The Time When We
by Up-Past-Midnight
Summary: The time when we... wrote letters to the counselor, she gave us the greatest thing a teacher could have ever given: each other. Slash and no slash.
1. Ate Cookies Together

**Warning: **This contains slash. Kendall/James slash. Please skip to a chapter without slash or leave now if you do not enjoy slash.

**A/N: **I deleted this, yes, at first, but it was too precious to me to forget, so I re-uploaded it and am using this story as a one-shot archive because I absolutely hate single-chaptered works on my list of works. It doesn't look appealing, so I'll just make it a big, gargantuan collection of one-shots for your fan's enjoyment.

I'm taking requests! Please feel free to review with your beautiful idea. I do fluff, smut, slash, and just plain-old friendship fics. Just review or PM (if it's too embarrassing), and I'll be sure to take it into account!

And I'll be changing the description to fit the current one-shot, to pull more readers in. Thanks for reading.

And reviews are heaven, loves!

**Disclaimer: **I own the plot. That is _it._

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**The time when we ate cookies together.**

The clouds were painted a dull gray, while I sat at the window seat on the school bus. Drops of rain smoldered the window, as I watched them race down the glass surface. My best friend, Kendall, sat with his legs sticking out in the aisle as I watched him laugh to a joke about penises to our friend Carlos behind us, as he started to sputter more to follow up on that inappropriate comment. Kendall was like that, always so confident, carefree. And I, at thirteen years old, was quirky, tall, and skinny, nothing like perfect-height-perfect-body hockey player Kendall.

(I played hockey too, let's get that fact straight, but it was Kendall who was truly dedicated.)

I just kept watching him silently, dreamily looking into his dirty blond hair, as it shook around whenever he'd laugh. I realized this sudden crush for him when we were twelve years old when I figured out that I liked boys the way every other boy my age liked girls. He was the one who I looked up to when the other kids made fun of me for wanting to be a singer or wearing my hair the way I did. Was there something wrong with long, brown hair? I didn't see any difference between mine and every other brunette's, and apparently neither did Kendall, because he'd sock anybody who said any different's face in.

"What's the matter?" he asked, as I was hypnotized into his eyes, taking a break from all the laughter.

"Oh, um, nothing." I was released back into reality, as I shook my head around, looking back at the window, watching the leaves race past the background, the rain pour by the bucket load. I was praying to God he wouldn't find out that I was looking at him this entire time, with the eyes of desire like I always have. If he (or anyone) found out about this crush, I'd by minced into tomorrow's lunch.

"Nah, there was something. James, what was it?" He directed my name in a sincere way. What did he know that I didn't know he knew? If that question makes sense at all.

"You just look so…never mind." I didn't have the courage to say anything about the way I felt about him. I came close that time, and just approaching the thought of telling him made my heart race and my stomach backflip.

"James…" I was instructed, in that there's-something-up-and-I-want-to-know-about-it tone of voice that I hated to receive from him.

"You just looked really…_cute_." I mumbled under breath, praying he didn't hear me.

"I... what?" He looked at me with a confused and breath taken look. He heard me, he just wasn't clear what I meant. "James... are you...? You can't really... can you? No, you can't... but... James..." Then he started to look annoyed.

"Kendall?"

He gave no response, just an angry glare in my direction, then adjusted his head frontward to meet the vision of the front of the bus. I turned away, almost about ready to burst into tears. He turned to look dead ahead for the whole duration of the bus ride, and when my stop came, I bolted for the door. That look of utter terror, sheer embarrassment he had on just left me like I was the biggest pile of shit in the world.

I was running off the steps of the bus when I tripped over myself and went landing for the sidewalk, the entire bus laughing at me. The cement slammed against my head, and boom, I was gone. I remembered Kendall and only Kendall from that moment on, but what I remembered most vividly was the day Kendall and I met in kindergarten.

"_My name's Kendall." _

"_I'm James."_

"_That's a pretty name."_

"_Thanks. Hey do you want to come over my house today? I have cookies!"_

And that was how it all started. On a rainy day, two boys meet and pig out on cookies. And I realized that he was all I wanted to see, but I was everything he didn't want to see. And that made me want to sleep forever. I awoke on a hospital bed who knows how long later. A headband of gauze was wrapped around my head, and I looked over to the mirror beside my bed in the cold, lonely hospital room. First thing I thought of myself when I saw the bandanna-gauze? _Bandannas are cool._

But the first word I muttered was, "Kendall..." As much as it should have been 'bandannas.'

A new voice in the room sputtered, "Hm? Oh, James, thank God..." Quickly I turned to my opposite direction to find Kendall there, waking up from a nap.

"Kendall?" Tears began to pour form my eyes, just like the rain outside my window. Wait a minute... rain...

"You were gone for three hours, man." He looked at me with his deep blue eyes, and I saw the little Kendall sitting there, offering me a Chips Ahoy cookie, like the first day we met.

I cried more, remembering what I told him just three hours ago on the bus. "The bus... I..." I stammered through my deep breaths.

"I realize something now, after you said that."

I look up, bracing myself for the worst. I already fell off the bus, I've got nothing to lose, so I bother on listening to what he has to say. Maybe it would be better if I accepted the truth and unfortunate events all at the same time.

"I... I think you look cute, too."

That made my heart race, as he slowly inched up towards the bed and laid a soft kiss on my lips. I couldn't feel the pain in my head anymore, all of the bad luck didn't matter, because Kendall liked me back, and that's all I've wanted since I met him. He looked at me with a short smile, some caring blue eyes, and a set of pink cheeks, so I pulled him back in for another kiss, remembering the time of the cookies once again.

After letting go of the kiss, he simply said, "So, James."

"So, Kendall." I beamed.

"You want to come over my house later? I have cookies."

My grin was even wider now, suddenly craving some Chips Ahoy cookies. "I'd love to."


	2. Slept Outside

**Warning: **Angsty fluff. No slash. Just friendship. If you want slash, go find one with some.

**A/N: **Another one-shot! Enjoy.

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**The time when we slept outside.**

On James's bluest nights, he was typically forced outside of his house to the cold Minnesota nighttime, by a father who he couldn't stand, much less tolerate being within his angle. In fact, he didn't mind the shiver of midnight breeze, the silence and serenity of the sleepy hollow. But he knew he would much rather be cozy in his bed, sleeping next to the thought that he could melt at the comfort, the only lullaby he needed was the feel of the cotton relaxation below him. Instead, the grass would be his bed, the crickets his lullaby, and another night away from his father; the only positive about becoming a bum in the Minnesota forest. His once perfectly coiffed chestnut hair was now a mangled nest, and his body was welted and sore from his hike to the spot where he had returned every time his mother had not been home and his father had gotten away with removing his son from the house he lived in. James never cried when his father made him leave. He just brushed his teeth, stuffed his cell phone into his denim pocket, and walked out. In the morning, he would check if his mother returned, and resume his broken life at home. But tonight, he dwell in the blue exterior, breathing in nature, and breathing out pain. No matter how tender his body got, though, he slept against the same rock like always, hearing the harmony of the owls, the delicate cricket's chirp, sometimes a green frog would liven up the rhythm.

On Kendall's bluest nights, he was typically forced outside to face the harsh, icy breeze, by a crying mother. He no longer wished to hear her heart break anymore, and entrusted her to his sister, who was far too mature and too responsible for a seven-year-old to get their depressed mother whatever she may have needed. To be stronger in the morning time, Kendall had to sleep the weakness away in a place far from home, a place of pure harmony, a place where his very best friend had slept on tough nights, much alike to the one he was having. Finding his long-haired friend, James, snoozing his troubles away, he made his way near him, lay himself down, and look up at the stars. They seemed to promise the pair of boys so many things; safety, calmness, strength, trust. The beautiful stars glimmered to them their word, that the wishes made would one day be granted, and that they would do their best to make the moment they were in as wondrous as possible. Kendall traced every cluster, inhaling the world's problems, then sharply breathing them back out, only to breath them in once more. His mother was at home, broken once again at the clutches of his father who had left, long, long ago. She never had gotten over him, never yet, anyway, and Kendall had to remain away from them at least once to twice a week. Listening to his mother cry would have shattered him, too, so every few nights or so, he would escape to indulge in Minnesota's most beautiful, the rustle of the forest that always shut his eyes with the kiss of sleep, the only thing to comfort him at the moment was the heart of his best friend steadily beating.

On Logan's bluest nights, he was typically forced outside to the threatening black of Minnesota's midnight. Why the nights scared him just as more when he was alone was beyond him, but feeling the silence pierce his heart and his ears in the corner of his room drove him insane. Maybe a bit of fear was needed to keep the sane grounded. At home, he felt he had nobody. He was so alone. So solitary. Mother could care less about his well-being, and father loved nothing more than to love anything else more than his young, pale, innocent son. He felt the excruciating silence drive him insane, to the point where the faintest noise would echo one million times. Leaving the house to feel a bit of adrenaline as he quickly darted into the thinner forest near his home was much better than losing his sense of everything he knew. Approaching the spot where he spent most of his time relaxing his mind, he happened upon his two best friends, Kendall and Logan, asleep as well. It was this spot in the world where they returned to for comfort, this world where the joyous sunshines and the serene moonshades both shook their hearts awake and healed their hearts in sleep. He slept alongside his pair of friends, knowing he was safe with the two nearby. The forest may have been scary, the haunting of the bare branches, the laughter of the breeze, the watchful gaze of the single white eye in the sky, but when he was with his best friends, nothing called 'fear' even existed.

On Carlos's bluest nights, he was typically forced outside to escape the fluffs of dangerous smoke that thirteen-year-olds best not inhale. Mother and father worked late to support the family as much as they could; they loved the family they supported. But when they did, when they were splitting their sides to bring home money, his uncle took advantage of the situation and proved that he felt no love for his sister and brother-in-law, nor for his nephew. Carlos hated the smell of marijuana, and its effects. He grew up listening to the safety and health videos, being totally manipulated by them, and he knew that it was for the better. Hockey would have been a difficult hill to cross if he indulged in the smoke his uncle filled the vents of his house with. Unlike the vents though, his lungs deteriorated. Carlos didn't have any form of desire or need to have his own lungs deteriorated, so annually, he left. Annually, he took in the real air humans were meant to inhale, the pure oxygen given to him by the green, beautiful, forest. Walking to the spot he called a refuge, the mossy, nature-ridden spot that he loved to be at, and happening upon his three best friends, he knew sleeping here and settling into Mother Nature's loving hands, he would have been perfectly fine come morning time.

Life for the boys was never easy. Kendall gained his leadership skills over being strong over the pain his father inflicted upon his small familial unit. James became obsessed with himself out of hate for the others who shattered his heart and those of the ones he loved. Logan became hesitant and analytical, always looking out for his best interest, and those of the others he cared deeply about, to make sure things would prove to be scary in the end. Carlos became excitable and fun-loving, risk-taking, because he knew that time away from his uncle who continually took advantage of his own family was time he should well have appreciated. But even on their bluest nights, they had that spot in the forestland that called to them, beckoned to their needs, when they required it.

And even on their bluest nights, they had each other.


	3. Learned Boys Really Are Stupid

**Warning: **This contains no slash. If you would like slash, please skip to a chapter that contains some. If you do not enjoy slash, then this humorous little one-shot is the one for you.

**A/N:** Yeah, this one's supposed to be a bit humorous. If you don't laugh, then sorry, this is my attempt at comedy. But if you did find it funny, then good. I'm funny. Yay. This fanfiction was based off of an actual argument that went on between my brother and our three cousins, me being the Katie. I needed to do my yoga, dammit, and they wouldn't shut up. The situation was so hilarious, I had to write about it. Reviews are as good as realizing you're smarter than your older brother.

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**The time when we learned boys really are stupid.**

"I'm right," Kendall stated, crossing his arms with a stern composure, "and you guys know it."

"You're about as right as everything you own in the box." James made a cheesy allusion to the song he was divulging in at the moment.

"A Beyoncé reference, James?" Logan glared at his taller counterpart with glaring eyes. It wasn't like him to make trouble amongst his friends—amongst anybody, really—but the situation demanded his aggressive attention.

"I _like _Beyoncé."

"You also like being wrong," Carlos retorted stupidly, "because that's what you are. You're _wrong_."

"And what do_ you _know about being right?" James spat. "Mister _jumping-off-of-a-two-story-building-is-perfectly-safe_."

"I stuck that landing, thank you very much." Carlos waggled an accusative finger, his face shining a matter-of-fact type of face. With that, Logan scoffed, knowing that prior to the stated problem, Logan gave his advice.

"Yeah, on your arm. That thing snapped in two." Logan rolled his eyes. "I told you you'd get hurt."

"You said _nothing._" Carlos commented.

"He did. I was there." Kendall interjected, only to be cut off by James.

"You told Carlos to go for it." James said. "You're in no place to say _anything_."

The argument was getting heated as the four teenage boys sat at the dinner table, a set of leftovers still sitting warm before them. Mrs. Knight had long left the arguing boys behind, and before the small debate had gotten violent, Katie stomped in with rage and a sudden need for silence. She was bright pink with anger, her eyes increased to a heavy glare.

"What in cold hell is going on?" Katie growled. The boys couldn't help but think about where had Katie been spending her spare time.

"Katie, watch your—" James began.

"Save it, Barbie boy, I need _quiet _and I intend to get it. Now tell me what's up." Before any of the boys could talk, Katie stopped them with a wave of the hand. "_One at a time_. I want Kendall to go first."

"_Somebody._ In this room." Kendall waved his hands around as if letting out a smoke of mystery. "Lost the _only _copy of the CD of our new song."

Katie pinched her nose bridge and said with an aggravated tone, "Gustavo, you idiot..."

"The day went like this," Kendall began, "we were recording the new song, like usual, then Gustavo stops us for not harmonizing well enough. He told us to blend each others' voices, and a wisecrack from Carlos sent us into a break. While there, Gustavo gave us a schedule for watching the CD for the next few days, since we're both too unorganized and bound to mess it up, and during _James's_ scheduled time, he lost the CD because he was too busy doing his hair to care about the first song on our second album."

"James?" Katie asked.

"Okay, point numero uno, it was _not _my time, therefore, I _left it_ on the side table outside of Gustavo's office." James defended. "It was _Logan's _turn and he knows it."

"Was not! I was doing the homework Ms. Collins gave us because Mr. X had me working hard on flips the night before. Gustavo knew that I had to have time to catch up on my assignments, so he let me take the last shift. You guys can go ask him now."

"So either one of you is lying, or Carlos lost the CD." Katie said, as all eyes reverted to him.

"I did _not _lose it. I knew it was _Kendall's_ shift because Stephanie and I went to the beach with Guitar Dude to watch the corn-dog eating contest. Camille gave the three of us tickets, so I figured we'd go, and since it was _Kendall's_, I figured that I didn't need to worry about it.

"I was with Jo all day, I wouldn't want a CD case poking a hole in my back pocket." Kendall scoffed.

"Neither would I. When I do my hair, I get to work, I don't want a CD accidentally getting knocked over by a foolishly placed hairspray can into the toilet." James added.

"I'd break the CD. I don't know why Gustavo wanted me to be the one of the ones to watch it anyway." Carlos figured.

"And I'm busy. I can't get the CD lost in all my paperwork." Logan added.

"So... _none _of you took the CD with you when you left the studio." Katie said simply, her face turning annoyed, her nose bridge being pinched even harder. The boys couldn't be this stupid, could they?

"No." All of them chirped at once.

"So..." Katie tried to get them to realize what it was they were missing.

"So?" They all mimicked.

"Call Kelly and tell her that the CD's on the side table in the waiting room outside of Gustavo's office."

"How did you know—" The boys said in unison, "...oh..."

With that, Katie groaned and left the room. "_Boys are morons._"


	4. Wrote Letters To The Counselor

**Warning: **This selection does not contain slash, only some half-fluff half-angst stuff. I hope you like it.

**A/N: **This was inspired by the many bullying fictions and stuff you see all over. I really do love reviews, short ones, long ones, all of them are beautiful. I thank you in advance if you take the time to write one out.

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**The time when we wrote letters to the counselor. **

It wasn't something he liked to do, writing a letter, but who else was he supposed to turn to? _His friends_? Ha. _What _friends? So he went ahead, and tried his hardest not to sound like a complete idiot as he wrote in his sloppy handwriting. He told myself he would retype it when he got home. But he was so swayed by the informational video his teacher fed to him—a video that eighth graders were way too old for, just for the record—that the only one he could turn to was a school counselor. He gulped, nervous, and began his paper.

_Dear Mrs. Meyer,_

_I can't stress enough how hard it is for me to be writing this, and admitting that I'm scared of something isn't something I like to do. But I'm writing you because I feel that the other kids at school dislike me because of the way I act up in class. I don't think they know about my medication for ADHD, but I know you do, and I was wondering if I could speak to you about that. Nobody likes me because of it, and in all honesty, I feel like nobody ever will. I feel like a mistake when I walk out the door and the world suddenly fills me with so much elation (I had to look up that word) that it's hard to remember that I had to go to school. Then I remember that nobody likes how unfocused I get and they tell me to shut up and I don't like it. I was wondering if you could help me with that. You're the counselor, right? You can suspend those kids, right? I wanted you to do that for me. Maybe if you got rid of the kids who pick on me all the time, I would like school more. I know you'd like for me to like school, because I don't get good grades as it is, and maybe if I liked it, I would try harder in class and get better grades. It's hard to stay calm when I'm sitting still as it is, and when the other kids get angry with me, I focus even less. It's wrong for them to do that, right? You can suspend them, right? _

_Sincerely,_

_Carlos Garcia, 8__th__ Grade_

_P.S. The sooner I can talk to you in person, the better. Can you please help me?_

_

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_

He hated writing more than Brad Ellenbury did in English class. And Brad Ellenbury hated writing more than Americans hate what happened on September 11th. But he was sitting by himself in the library after school, avoiding anybody that would call him another name. Another person to take his dreams and step on them like a used cigarette, putting out any embers of hope he had left burning, making sure that all he would be reduced to was ashes and smoke.

_Dear Mrs. Meyer,_

_Thank you for opening my letter and taking the time to read it. I'm sure it's merely your obligation to read it, considering the fact that you are the guidance counselor, but you're reading it anyhow, and I do appreciate a person who listens. It's hard for me to admit, but I do need someone to speak to. I walk around school with a lot of false confidence, no friends, no nothing. Just a little kid and a dream. But you know the kids here—they don't like anybody who's different. They don't appreciate a kid with a little more unique dreams than hockey. They like the typical old hockey player who likes trading cards. As much as I'd like to fit in and make friends, I still don't want to deny my mind myself. They don't like me, Mrs. Meyer, and I'm starting to believe that maybe I really do have to conform and pretend like I'm somebody I'm not, as hard as that may be as far as I've come. I want to be a singer, you see, Mrs. Meyer, but the only ones that want to be singers as much as I do are the girls in choir—and they don't like me either. They like "real boys." I'm a "real boy" Mrs. Meyer, just a boy with a different thing to work for. Don't take this the wrong way, Mrs. Meyer, but you're the last person I expected to be telling this to, but I'd really like to tell you more and set up an appointment. I only have one condition if you set me up with an appointment though—tell me that you've found me a friend._

_Warmest regards,_

_James Diamond, 8__th__ Grade_

_

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_

He was used to this. Writing things, that is. He wrote thesis papers, math equations, diagnoses, narrative fiction, scientific formulas, you name it. He was articulate. But writing from unparalleled emotion was something else. He was sitting in the main science lab, with full responsibility of locking up, and decided that enough was enough. He had to vent to _somebody_, and if that was the counselor, then so be it. He just needed some guidance, and he figured, that was she was hired for. So he began.

_Mrs. Meyer,_

_I'm writing you to inform you of my current state of being. Continually, I am harassed by many of the students here at Sherwood Junior High and will not put up with any more insults and/or ridicule any longer. I am attempting, for the first time, to write this letter without any prompt or background information other than my own emotion, and I find it very difficult to convey enough emotion in my words without sounding like I am writing a recommendation letter to Harvard. I suppose that last sentence was a bit humorous, so I assume my writing style is fairly acceptable. You see, Mrs. Meyer, much of my fellow classmates do enjoy harassing me by physical pain, embarrassment, and/or threats of physical pain or embarrassment if I do not complete their homework assignments. I am greatly stressed on a daily basis during all six periods of my classes due to the ongoing amusement that others take from my, as said before, physical pain or embarrassment. I can name many, many examples of this, but I have narrowed the worst down, it being my gym clothes stolen from my locker room, forcing me to storm out of the area, only to be found surrounded by many of my classmates, armed with cameras, snapping photos of me in my undergarments. More continued to happen soon after, and I have faced public embarrassment countless times. So many times, in fact, that I do believe that I've forgotten when it is they pick on me. I would enjoy an appointment with you to review some school transfer options and if I could qualify to attend class at the prep school. Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Logan Mitchell, 8__th__ Grade_

_

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_

Writing to the school counselor was so not how he wanted to spend his hockey practice, but he didn't want to spend it having a beer keg down by the end of the creek, either. So, sitting in his thermals in the coach's office, dead alone, he found himself a piece of paper and a pen, and began his letter to the school counselor. He didn't have any intention of tattling on the team about the keg, nor did he want any revenge on anybody, nor did he need it. It was an easy life for him, especially because of his skill in hockey, but what he needed was a set of new friends. Where he would find them, he had no idea, nor did he know where to start on his new path to new friends, and he had pondered ditching the hockey team for quite some time, but it was now when he finally decided to act on the recurring thought.

_Hey Mrs. Meyer,_

_This is really just a formality right? This paper, I mean. You'll talk to me if I need it, won't you? Yeah, I thought you might. But before I meet with you to talk, I really should let you know why I need to talk. It's because I need to keep this all in confidentiality. At the time that I'm writing this, the entire hockey team (except me, of course) is down at Sherwood Creek, getting drunk and having sex. I was raised to know that none of that would ever interest me, and even now, I'm not interested in it still. But I'm worried for the other team, because the championship is approaching, and we are nowhere near our goal of improvement. I'm also worried that I may be sucked into the majority, and admittedly, I have gotten drunk with them once, and promise you that I would never, ever want to try it again. So, to sum it all up, I just need some new friends, and since making these friends was hard enough as it is, I need some new kids to lead. You know me, Mrs. Meyer, the leader. I need a few nice kids to talk to and be friends with every once in a while, guys who really aren't interested in drinking and having sex and don't really follow any trends. I didn't know where to find kids like this, and everywhere I look, I feel like they don't like me, so I'd like some new friends that like me as me instead of the star of the hockey team. I don't even think the hockey team appreciates me more than some puck-hitting fool. I'm more than that, you know? Bottom line, I need some nice kids to fit in with. You can do that, right? Or at least show me were to look?_

_Thanks,_

_Kendall Knight, 8__th__ Grade_

_

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_

Upon receiving the four letters within the same day, Mrs. Meyer decided to make her job so much easier than writing four individual letters in reply and simply wrote one letter and made four copies, each of them reading:

_I'm glad to see you writing me. Please visit me after school today at 2:45. There are some boys that I'd like you to meet. _


End file.
